


I may be Captain, but you are the keeper of my Soul.

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School AU:<br/>Dean is the new kid at school, 1 year after his brother Sammy commits suicide. Castiel Novak is a nerdy art kid, but there's something about him that Dean just can't pin down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, so like, comment, critique?

     “Castiel Novak?” A mousy woman in drab clothes, worn and defeated called out Cas’ name. She hadn’t slept well, and kept glancing nervously at her desk where she kept a bottle of gin. Her wrinkled hands clutched a clipboard like a lifeline.

     “Present,” Castiel uttered, wishing that it wasn’t true. He shifted nervously in his seat, feeling the sharp divide separating him from his classmates. He looked querulously at their blank faces, but found nothing. _Only, what, 213 days left of high school?_ Sinking into his thoughts, Castiel’s shoulders shrunk into his worn tan trench coat. The door slammed open, shocking Castiel out of his mute reverie. His blue eyes slid over the gray graffitied desk and rested on the boy standing awkwardly by the whiteboard. His hair was sandy and unkempt, and he carried a worn leather jacket slung over his arm. Its color lay somewhere between caramel and chocolate; it reminded Castiel of a dog’s coat, glowing with warmth and vague memories. For some reason Castiel couldn’t figure, the abrupt boy sauntered to Castiel’s desk, collapsing unceremoniously next to him. Fighting his rising fear, Cas curled himself as close as he could to the wall and faced his eyes out the warped and rain battered windows. Obviously this newcomer was unaware of Castiel’s crippling social ineptitude. Still, Cas reflected curiously on the rare “new kid”; he was tall and uncomfortably good looking, with open and revealingly hazel eyes. His black, muddy and scuffed boots twitched restlessly under the table.

  
     The newcomer’s stomach sank painfully at the realization that he, Dean Winchester, was in for another unbearable year at yet another cold and unfriendly High School. His chest ached with memories and he rested his head slowly on the cold desk. _Jesus, can’t these schools turn on the freaking heaters in the morning?_ The form of his quiet deskmate filled his tired, blurry vision, practically camouflaged with the nondescript tan peely paint of the walls. Dean smiled bitterly; he couldn’t even catch a conversation with the small awkward kids anymore. Of course, he could probably place on the football team with his athletic build and casually charming personality, but he’d never been interested. His gaze flicked instinctively to the caged clock on the wall; according to his crisp new schedule, his next class was art. A sigh of relief emptied his lungs. Easy A there.

  
      When Cas arrived at the musty art room, he was late and he felt everyone’s eyes fixed on him. Of course, the large and glaringly closeted jock Alistair had resumed his cruelties as soon as humanly possible. Why he was targeted was clear to Cas: an unusually dressed and mannered boy, with an almost sociopathic lack of social connection was an easy target. He wasn’t exactly small or weak, but he had never been interested in fighting back. He knew the odds of his success alone, and took the logical route. Or so he told himself. It was really unavoidable that he show up late to class with bruises just beginning to blossom beneath his white t-shirt. Finding the only open seat, he was startled to find his gorgeous new-kid stretched out, resting his long legs on Cas’ chair. _His?_ Castiel quieted his pesky inner narration.

  
     Dean heard a small sigh behind him and saw the trench-coated kid from English shifting nervously. _Shit, I’m in his seat. He probably thinks I’m kind of dick now._ Dean jerked his legs back, coughing an apology. _Crap_.

  
      Relieved, Cas sat next to the blushing newbie. _Blushing?_ It was strange, but he ignored it, instead pulling out his black sketchbook and burying his face in it. He pulled his knees up to his chest and began to scratch his pencil across the white surface. He felt almost happy.

  
      Across the desk, Dean stole glances at Cas. His eyes roamed over Cas’ worn high top sneakers, his soft and surprisingly tight jeans, and skated to his face. The boy, Castiel Novak, had dark blue eyes and uniquely shaped lips, but his features were marred by worry lines carved between his brows. Dean blushed and let his gaze fall to the boy’s defined arms, and to the unmistakable bruises that were beginning to peek from beneath his soft white shirt. But it wasn’t Castiel’s bruised skin he saw. Dean saw soft and childish skin, stretched by growth spurts and young muscles. He saw Sammy. _This is so not ok._ _Fuck._ Dean cussed softly.

  
      Cas stiffened warily and stared with unnaturally wide and expressionless eyes at Dean. Cas didn’t know what the boy was staring at, and shrank uncomfortably beneath his gaze. He couldn’t tell what expression lay in Dean’s frighteningly hot eyes, but he could see Dean’s jaw flexing and the tendons in his hand tightening. Castiel’s breath hitched and his eyebrows knit anxiously. He wasn’t scared of the boy, but Dean’s intentions were still unknown to Cas. After what seemed like millennia later, Dean dropped his eyes and Cas let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

  
     The rest of the day passed uneventfully for Dean, and when the last bell rang the rain had cleared, leaving a crisp and wetly vivid landscape. Dean made his way toward the glittering ‘67 Chevy Impala that crouched in the back lot, shading his eyes against the bright mirages that formed on the wet black cement. Oh baby you are a sight for sore eyes. Dean sat on the Impala, crossing his legs at the ankle. It wasn’t long before a barrage of emotions and memories assaulted his mind and brought pinpricks to the backs of his eyes. Sammy had once sat with him on Baby’s hood. He’d had to jump to get on, crossing his legs just like Dean, but his toes would dangle over the edge. They would sit like that for hours, just Sam and Dean. It hadn’t been a dissimilar day when Dean had come home after school, quite a few towns and schools ago, and found Sam. His cold, pink and soft hands were still curled around an old colt handgun. _Jesus, Sammy._

     When Cas emerged from school he breathed a deep lungful of clean air in relief. _Only 212 days left._ From the corner of his eye he saw a lone car nestled in the back of the school lot, with leather clad Dean Winchester lounging atop its gleaming surface. He didn’t know what prompted him to approach the lone boy, but he couldn’t draw away. His eyes fixed nervously on his graying shoelaces. When he came closer to Dean, Cas could see his broad shoulders were slumped and he rubbed his sun-pinked neck pensively. Hearing Cas’ quiet approach, Dean turned. _Startled, obviously. What am I doing here?_ Cas thought desperately.

  
     "Hi. My name’s Cas- Castiel Novak.” He stuttered. _This is bizarre. I’m going to miss my bus._ He stared unblinkingly at Dean, unaware of his owlish and disheveled appearance.  
     “Cas.” Dean had to clear his throat before answering, and Cas suddenly noticed Dean’s red and misty eyes. Shoot.  
     “What’s up Doll face, need a ride?” Dean bluffed, dripping with sarcasm. _Day 1, crying in a friggin parking lot. That must be a personal worst. I’ve probably parked in his spot or some dumb shit._  
     “Do you wish to talk to me? I believe I know how to listen, though I admit to lacking practical experience.” Cas spoke uncomfortably and rapidly, but his voice (uniquely low for a high-schooler) was strong. His eyes continued to stare intensely at Dean.  
      “Nah, man. I gotta get going. See you maybe.” Moments later, the Impala purred to life and peeled out of the lot.


	2. Chapter 2

 

      The next day in art class, Dean had a raging hangover. Instead of sitting next to his brand new guardian angel, who he really couldn’t face like this, he chose the seat directly across the room and leaned his face on his hands. Tuesday morning hangovers were becoming frighteningly familiar. His eyes fluttered shut.  _Just resting…_

  
      The bell rang and Castiel moved to gather his things and leave. However, Dean Winchester still lay draped over the child-size desk, snoring, and Cas couldn’t just ignore him. Or ignore the foreign and uncomfortable heat in his chest. _No wonder you’ve got fag sharpied over your locker._ He stood over Dean, noticing the way Dean’s broad shoulders stretched tight the fabric of his blue button up, as well as the distinctive scent of liquor. He stood there for a moment, gathering his nerve, when-

  
     “What, you gonna kiss him you little faggot?” Alistair’s voice sent icicles up Cas’ spine, and he took a step back, stumbling. The room was empty.

  
 _If I leave now, it may result in a temporary solution._ Cas didn’t want to wake Dean anymore.

  
      Unfortunately, Alistair’s stocky body reached out and grabbed Castiel’s shoulder before he could flee. He felt himself falling, and landed on his back, hitting his head on the cold tiles. Hard. He slid into unconsciousness easily. 

      “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking **fuckers**.” Cas felt warm and calloused hands on his face, pulling at his eyelids and gently probing the lump forming on the back of his head.  
 _Shit._ Cas opened his eyes slowly, looking absolutely bewildered. His blue eyes found Dean’s, and he sat up like a rocket.

  
      “What happened man? I woke up and you were on your back. You ok?” Dean’s voice was gruff, but his eyes betrayed his deep concern.

  
      “I,” Cas started, his voice catching. Composing himself, he began again: “I fell. I’m sorry I’ve worried you.” For the first time since Dean had met him, Castiel didn’t meet his eyes. _What were you thinking, staring at Dean like that? You really are a little fag, Castiel._

  
      Dean realized he still had his hand on Cas’ cheek. _Probably freaking the dude out. Look, he’s blushing. God, what is this, a goddamn chick flick?_ Dean placed a hand on his knee and pulled himself up, offering a hand to Castiel.

  
      “Since we’ve missed most of 3rd, wanna go get cleaned up and eat lunch?” Dean’s voice was lower, full of teenage awkwardness. He didn’t meet Cas’ eyes, either.

      “Clean up?” Cas was still a tad befuddled, maybe.

      “Uh, yeah. You got a little…” Dean gestured vaguely to Castiel’s head, which was beginning to glisten with ruby wetness.

      “Oh. Right. Sure.” Cas muttered. He still avoided Dean’s eyes, which was fine by Dean.

       Minutes later, Cas stood by the second floor bathroom sink, awkwardly trying to pat the blood from his hair. After watching Cas struggle, Dean gave up and gave him a hand: an uncharacteristically gentle hand.

  
      A few paper towels later, feeling reasonably put together, Cas picked up his backpack, then froze in fear. _Where is my sketchbook? Oh god no. Please no._ Cas sprinted abruptly out and into the hall, where he skidded to a halt. His eyes filled with dread. Dean appeared next to him, concern filling his eyes.

      “Hey man, what’s up?” But then Dean saw what had Castiel so freaked out. Littered on the floor were blown up sketches of **Dean** sleeping gracefully; his likeness was captured incredibly and tenderly: the soft lines of his face and deep cupid’s bow lent innocence to his dozing face. The harsh black letters spelling “fag” sharpied over the masterpiece did not. _Wow, that kid’s amazing._

      “Hey, Cas,” Dean turned around, but Castiel was gone.

       Cas ran, and he didn’t stop till he could feel pain and exhausting singing in his skin, till the thud of his heartbeat drowned out his roaring thoughts. Cool succulent grass leapt up to meet his limp body, and he lay still for a long time. Castiel’s blue eyes searched the ignorant clouds, and followed the paths of the grass’s soft undulations till his body stilled and his mind lay quiet. _I don’t know why this is affecting you such, Castiel. It is not as if you’d had any social standing before these events._ Cas shut his eyes at his own unwelcome thoughts. A small voice murmured a pathetic and feeble response: _But there was Dean. There was Dean, and now there isn’t._ Cas blinked quickly, but his captive tears broke free and rolled like rain down his face. Time passed but did not soothe.

      Eventually, Cas couldn’t ignore the darkening sky or rapidly chilling air, and began his trek home. The slap of tires passing on wet pavement lulled him, and he fell asleep gratefully as soon as he stepped over his familiar threshold.


	3. Chapter 3

      The next day in Art and English, Castiel sat far from Dean, forcing himself to keep his eyes away from Dean: the boy who’d almost been a friend. He couldn’t bear the inevitable disgust or, at best, awkward avoidance.  _211 days left._

      Unfortunately, Cas wasn’t done with the entire episode. As he knelt to replace his textbooks into his locker, he felt a hand slam the door shut, chilling Cas with a breeze. He stood slowly and turned, meeting Alistair’s narrowed eyes. Cas knew that showing fear would not spare him, so he refused to give anyone the pleasure of seeing how frightened they made him, of knowing how completely defeated he was. Alistair grabbed Castiel’s shoulder roughly and turned him so his face was pressed painfully into the rows of lockers that surrounded them. His hot breath hissed into Cas’ ear “What were you thinking, fairy? That you’d get some pretty little love story? You’re sick.” Alistair’s fists gathered Cas’ hair and pulled his head into the air, gloating over Cas’ helplessness and pained expression. He only gloated momentarily, and before Cas knew it he was being hurled to the wall, doubling over with a grunt. He felt nausea rise into his chest, and strong fingers digging into his arms. A knee slammed into his unprotected stomach, and that was when Castiel lost track. His eyes unfocused, and his mind watched from a distance.

  
      Somewhere within him, Castiel eventually noticed a change in the scene around him. He was no longer the target of assault, and when his eyes refocused he saw a gorgeous sight: Dean. Dean, with disturbing professionalism, aiming quick and powerful punches at Alistair’s weak and cringing shape. Cas groaned, and the punches stopped. Holding his nose to staunch the dainty drops of crimson blood that fell softly to the floor, Alistair fled.

   
      _This makes twice. You’re making a habit of being too little too late, aren’t you Dean? How many times did you fail to protect Sammy, when he was hurting and alone?_ Dean hung his head, and his fists relaxed, realizing their job was done. He turned around slowly to face Cas, not allowing his distress to reach his face. _Jesus freaking Christ._ Cas was a mess. Bruises formed elegant Rorschach patterns on his arms, chest and face. His nose was bleeding and his hair was mussed, giving him an air of innocence and youthfulness. 

  
     His eyes were dark and wide, staring at Dean, but were empty of any normal emotional response. He seemed almost unaware of his body's battered state, like it was no more than a vessel to him. He didn’t complain when Dean led him to his car, and didn’t speak as they drove to Dean’s small apartment. He tolerated Dean’s assistive touch and indeed, would not have been able to make it into Dean’s small residence without it. He did not move from the couch where he’d been placed, but followed Dean’s movements carefully with his eyes as Dean moved about the tiny space.

  
      “So. You kind of look like you need a shower. I’ve got some extra clothes you can wear while I get… those cleaned up.” Dean’s voice was thick and he looked awkwardly down at the blood that covered Castiel’s t-shirt. _Your fault. Your fault._ Sammy. Cas. Dean was worthless, and he knew it.

  
      Cas squirmed under Dean's intense gaze, but made his way to the bathroom compliantly. Once under the warm water, Cas closed his eyes and felt his entire body scream in protest. One thought entered his mind: _I didn’t know guardian angels were so gorgeous._  Slowly, a ghost of a smile crossed his face.

  
      When Cas emerged from the steamy bathroom wearing Dean’s ratty sweatpants, Dean’s stomach flip-flopped and he fought the possessive and protective feelings that stirred in his chest. Cas stood swaying awkwardly before finally speaking:

      “I, uh, I’m very… Grateful, Dean, for everything that you’ve done for me. But you shouldn't think it will be without consequence.” Cas blushed here, “I do not wish you to sabotage your own safety on my behalf.” Cas couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes anymore, and braced himself for the worst. When finally the waiting became too much, Cas looked up and Dean rolled his eyes dramatically.


	4. Why Dean loves aprons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, please comment and critique because I need validation.

 

      For the next week, Dean insisted on walking Cas to all of his classes and personally chauffeured him home after school. Castiel did his best not to bask in the unexpected friendship, but he was undeniably chipper as soon as Dean’s face entered his horizons each day. After his last class on Thursday, Castiel waited in the hall for a while, hoping Dean would show up and grace him with his signature impish grin and maybe a slice of pie. When he didn’t show, Cas wasn’t worried. He made his way to the empty school library and nestled himself in the overstuffed armchair between Science and Mythology, and cracked open his sketchbook. He was a bit embarrassed that most of his recent drawings were of Dean: reclining on the Impala, smiling, resting his hands on his chin. The only work that wasn’t overtly Dean was a rough gesture sketch of an angel, with loose fists, poised to turn its head but still faced away. Its wings were huge and rough, as if it had fallen, not flown, from the heavens only moments before. Instead of fluffy white wings it bore the brown, angular wings of Cas’ favorite bird, a kestrel. Castiel decided he would polish up the drawing before heading home, and settled thoughtfully into his chair. Before he knew it, the lights began flicking off, and the brusque librarian ejected him from the library. Luckily, he had only a 15-minute walk home, and the air was unseasonably warm.

  
      Dean awoke slowly the next day on his dingy kitchen floor, his skin drinking in the sunlight that streamed through his window. His head pounded and when his eyes struggled open, he became aware of the trashed state of his apartment. Kinda like Dean last night. He’d picked up a bottle of whiskey and had a bit of a pity party. Which apparently got a bit rough, but Dean didn’t remember much of it. _Yeah, forgetting. Kind of the point._ Dean was shit with memorials, but he was sure Sam would understand. One year ago yesterday. Only a year, but Sam and Dean had been inseparable. When Sam died, it was as if a massive part of Dean had been buried too. _Like your liver?_ Dean had only a moment, but thankfully he made it to the bathroom before the contents of his stomach decorated the inside of his toilet. Dean sunk to the cold yellowing linoleum gratefully, and shut his eyes. He’d only been there for a minute when the doorbell rang. _What the crap? No one comes here._

  
      “Come in, if you dare.” Dean hoped that whoever was at the door would leave, because he really didn’t feel like explaining himself.

  
       When Cas stepped into Dean’s house, he was immediately worried that Dean had been robbed. Soon enough, though, the stench of liquor and vomit reached him. Arriving at the bathroom, Cas looked down at Dean, hanging on to the bathroom floor for dear life, who stared back with please-don’t-judge-me eyes. Dean, who was wearing very little, nay nothing, in addition to his blue striped boxers. Cas accepted Dean’s silent plea, and turned his attention temporarily to the wreckage of Dean’s apartment. He started the cleanup effort by dumping the rest of Dean’s booze down the sink, knowing better than to make loud noises, much less ask questions. Cas was a natural neat freak, so it wasn’t long before he was completely absorbed in cleaning, washing and organizing. When he finished few hours later, Castiel was incredibly impressed with himself, considering the state of the place previously. Dean still hadn’t emerged, so Cas crept quietly to the bathroom. Dean was leaning on the sink pipes snoring softly.

  
      Cas probably shouldn’t have been so gleeful at the thought of having Dean’s place to himself, and he was fairly certain that normal boys didn’t have such skill when it came to keeping house. Still, this was the happiest Castiel had been in a long while, and it didn’t seem like Dean minded much. Cas slipped on his headphones and started on the laundry.

  
      When he was finally done, Cas decided to have a bit of fun.  He placed the old torn apron from under the sink over his head and stealthily, he crept right up to Dean’s slumbering face. In a breathy Marilyn Monroe impression, he whispered

"Good morning, Sweetie"

      He was so close to cracking up, but he bit his lip and kept it together by imagining Dean’s reaction. Dean had been kind of tutoring Cas at humor, because somehow he’d found out that Cas didn’t understand even simple knock-knock jokes.

      Dean opened his eyes in his bizarre dream-land and saw Cas. Castiel was biting his lips, and his face was surrounded in a really bright halo, and Dean was almost sure he was wearing an apron. _Weird…_ He smiled so angelically that Dean was disturbed at how blissful and creepy his dreams were getting. But the dream felt really good, so Dean just went with it, reached up to cup Castiel’s face, and kissed him.

  
      Castiel’s brain supernova’d. All he could feel was Dean’s dry lips and breath and was that tongue? His stomach writhed and his whole body stiffened. _Was this a joke? Dean said once that an ironic or twist ending sometimes created a comedic effect. Dean. Dean who just kissed you._ Cas had fallen back against the bathtub and his eyes were impossibly wide, as if maybe that would jumpstart his brain. Vaguely Cas surmised that he probably was suffering a lack of oxygen, due to the fact that he’d stopped breathing and his heart had gone plunging to his stomach. Most likely because Dean had just kissed him.

  
     Dean began to wake up. _Oh._ So this was most definitely not a dream. And "straight-as-an-arrow" Dean had just kissed his best friend. Apparently his decisions could get worse; here Dean was thinking that getting wasted and trashing his apartment was rock bottom. A deep groan escaped him, and Dean shut his eyes till he could see stars. He really didn’t want to look at Cas’ face, but he couldn’t help cracking an eye open. Cas **_was_ ** wearing an apron, and his eyes were practically jumping out of his face. None of this was remotely funny, but Dean was suddenly laughing harder than he had in years. Tears ran down his face and every time he looked at Cas he started again, laughing till he wheezed and his stomach hurt.

  
      “Dean.” Cas voice was urgent and terse.

  
        Cas was overwhelmed. He generally couldn’t follow social interaction, but this was more confusing and foreign and frightening than he’d ever experienced. Before Dean could argue, he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok I edited this chapter, because it didn't really flow before.

         

         Yeah, so Dean was gay. He’d always been gay, but as a teen he’d played the role of straight-as-an-arrow, suave, extroverted, athletic Ladies Man. It made protecting Sammy a buttload easier, and of course having a homophobic father was pretty good incentive too. But of course, the best laid plans of mice and men… well, things didn’t work out. Dean was at football practice when Sammy killed himself.

          After Sam died, Dean stuck around with his dad somewhere in Oregon. They even rented a place, which was rare and luxurious compared to the long stream of Budget Motels that composed Dean’s childhood home. It had been about a month since Sammy died when a letter came from Stanford saying that they were honored to present Samuel Harvelle Winchester with tuition-free admission in the fall. When Dean opened the letter, leaning against the counter in their outdated kitchen, it had felt like a swift kick to his gut. 

         Dean looked up with tears in his eyes, searching John Winchester’s face for solace, maybe companionship _._ He found only cold glittering brown eyes, terribly dark bags underneath and rock hard bundles of muscle; taut and menacing. It was a while before John spoke, and when he did it was slowly and deliberately.

         “It should have been you.”

 

         Dean was cold, and shivered despite himself.

       

        “He was the smart one,” John continued slowly, “Going places.” John wasn’t looking at Dean’s face now, was fiddling with some loose drawer handle nonchalantly.

 

        “Not like you. Dumb. Clingy. Faggot.” Now he finally looked at Dean. _He was right._

 

         Dean hadn’t stuck around after that night, but that was more for Dad’s convenience than his own. Ever since then Dean had skipped around; for the sake of anonymity, routine, and because damn if Dean wasn’t gonna at least try and run away from his problems. But of course, now there was Castiel Novak.

        

         Cas was full of nervous energy, crackling and sparking in his eyes. He’d thought leaving Dean would clear his head, but it just gave his frenzied thoughts more space to hurl themselves at Cas’ consciousness. Although Castiel should’ve been concentrating on what-the-heck-just-happened, he couldn’t stop remembering The Kiss: Dean’s dry lips, his stale liquor breath, slight stubble and warm brown eyelashes. The way his eyelids had opened so reluctantly, as if guarding Dean’s incredibly green and vibrant eyes. But Castiel wasn’t some character in a love story, and Dean wasn’t a Disney princess. Even so, Cas was unsure what the heck was going on, and he did not appreciate being toyed with. But this was Dean, so...        

        Cas would wait. He knew that not everyone was as sure in their own sexuality, and he could see from Dean’s apartment that the guy obviously had some issues to work through. It’s not like Castiel didn’t know the feeling. His father, Mr. Novak was a minister in Kansas, and for most of his life Castiel had been raised uber-religious. Like, lord-our-savior, alter boy, bible thumping Christian. His brothers Michael and Lucifer had practically raised Cas on their own since Father worked away for long periods of time.

         Michael was a special kind of religious; he preferred the whole obedience and smite-the-unworthy side of worship to the love-thy-neighbor side, and made a big point of being “daddy’s little helper” when it came to discipline. Cas had grown up with a holy fear of his older brother’s righteous wrath. Hellfire had blazed in his bedtime stories.

         One day (Cas was about 14 then) Michael came into Castiel’s room, a rare and foreboding occurence. When he spoke, it was chillingly soft and innocuous.         Somehow, Cas still didn’t know how, Michael found out that little obedient Cassie was a _homosexual._

         It still hurt to remember, years later.

 

         Cas begged. It burned and Cas burned too. Michael decided it was his righteous duty to show Castiel exactly what hell he was headed for and did so cruelly and methodically. He started by burning Cas' dirty little fingers with a soldering torch, and didn't stop till he was satisfied.

         Eventually their sister Anna found Cas. After “learning his lesson” he had passed out in their backyard, curled protectively around his blistered and bloated hands in the shadow of his favorite weather worn angel statue. The massive stone angel dwarfed poor Cas. It rained while he lay there, surrounding him in mud and soaking his skin.

         It was decided at some point afterward that Gabriel ( his elder brother by 15 years) would take guardianship of Cas. He never saw Michael after that. 


	6. When the levee breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. It's foggy and Dean just needs a hug.

2:21 AM: Dean: You up?

2:23 AM: Cas: I am now. Good morning Dean.

2:30 AM: Dean: I’m on my way over.

         Castiel dressed faster than humanly possible, his skin humming with nervous energy and fear. His heartbeat thudded deafeningly, making the silence between beats that much eerier and hollow. Breathlessly Cas waited at the window, his face pressed to the cold glass. The streetlights outside lit a dim region of street with their watery yellow light, and the black pavement glittered magically; it reminded Cas of Christmas mornings, of early plane flights, of first snowfalls, and childhood dreams of never-ever-land. He sighed and his breath fogged the window before him.

         Before he knew it, bright headlights floated up the misty street and the Impala’s low purr pierced the silent air. Cas flew quickly down. He didn’t speak when got in the car, just waited and stared expectantly at Dean. They drove in silence for a while, up empty and dead streets till they arrived somewhere outside of town and time.

         Cas was never socially perceptive, but he was observant and intuitive. He noticed the small things: army men wedged in the Impala’s doors, how Dean never talked about family, and how when a certain Zeppelin song came on he always became withdrawn and snappy. Cas also knew that when Dean was ready to talk, he’d show it in a really damn stubborn way: like kidnapping Cas at 3 am just to sit in silence. But Cas was tired and a little fed up with Dean’s drama.

         He started humming very softly the first few bars of “when the levee breaks”. Dean didn’t turn around, but he stiffened perceptibly and grasped his slightly bowlegged knees, the muscles in his hands wriggling nervously. Cas heard his breathing speed, but he didn’t stop humming. His low soft voice filled the car and his breath condensed on the passenger side window, soft and natural and welcome in the quiet morning air. Only when he finished the song did Cas turn to look at Dean sleepily, unsure if his experiment had succeeded.

         “When the Levee breaks” was the song playing the last time Dean saw Sammy alive. The day before he killed himself, Sam and Dean rode home together from school like always, soaking up the last rays of summer warmth. Dean was educating Sammy on the fine points of classic rock, desperately attempting to buoy Sam’s perpetual moodiness. Eventually Dean resorted to his mad leg-guitar skills, which broke a brief crooked and wistful smile out of Sammy.

         Dean wasn’t crying, but he had a grievous look on his face and tears dripped hotly on his skin. After a while he swiveled to face Cas. _How on earth could he know?_ Whatever was going on here, Dean knew he needed it, needed Cas. Dean couldn’t be alone anymore; running away and pretending he was strong was about as useless as… Well, Dean. As useless as Dean. _Sammy died and you’ll never get him back because you let him die. But how did Cas know?_ Looking across at the boy seated opposite him, Dean’s eyes searched for answers. Cas was dressed in the same old ratty tan trenchcoat, and his hair was wild and unruly. His arms rested expectantly at his sides, and his eyes were patient, but his expression was desperate and worn. A decision clicked into place in Cas’ eyes, and before Dean was aware of what was happening, Cas had crawled over onto Dean’s lap and hugged him tightly. Cas’ head was pressed tightly into Dean’s chest and his arms were curled around his waist innocently. A sigh escaped both boys’ chests simultaneously, and they rested contentedly while the sun rose.

         For the first time in 366 days, Dean was Ok. The warm weight of Cas nestled on his lap was a promise that Dean could accept.

         At around 6:00 the sun began to warm the car, and Dean realized they’d been parked there for hours. Also, Cas had shifted at some point and was now resting directly on Dean’s crotch. _This could get awkward…_ Dean started to make some lame excuse and shift uncomfortably in his seat, but when he looked down at Cas’ face he saw the boy was fast asleep. Castiel’s adorable bed head and soft snores didn’t exactly help Dean’s boner, _at all._ Careful not to shift Cas too much, Dean crawled to the back seat and fell asleep.


	7. Burns and beating hearts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk about their shit.

 

         The sun was overhead now. It forced its way into Dean’s eyelids and shone into his mind; it brightened deeper recesses than ever before, and Dean woke up pleasantly. He savored the warm leather beneath his cheek and let his spring-green eyes open without his signature dread. Cas’ oceanic eyes met his. Castiel had his arms wrapped around the back of the seat and his chin rested on the shoulder expectantly.

         “Twenty questions. I’ll go first.” This was a tactic used by Gabriel whenever Cas wasn’t feeling communicative. Usually they could get their shit out and dealt with in under twenty questions, and it made it easier to talk about, honestly. Cas didn’t wait to see if Dean was ready, because the simmering-enigma-wrapped-in-angst was getting old, fast.

         “What significance does that song carry for you?” Cas asked simply, and waited.

_Oh. Well this is an interesting way to have conversation. Pretty efficient, I guess._ Before Dean knew it, he was telling Cas things he’d never told anyone before. All about Sammy, about his father, things he didn’t even let himself think about normally. Cas was really sensitive about it all: he didn’t prod, didn’t get all “poor honey”, just _understood._ It really wasn’t helping Dean get over his weird guardian angel ideas.

         “Dean,” Cas’ spoke at last “…you can’t save everybody.”

         That was all he said, but it worked. Dean let go a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and smiled wearily. This was not done yet, though.

         “Alright. Your turn.” Dean could tell that Cas was unprepared by the way he twitched and looked away, but he ploughed ahead anyways.

         “Your burns… not a cooking fire?” Dean had wondered for a while, but Cas was extraordinarily tight lipped and, honestly, kinda flighty.

         “Uh, well.” Cas thought he might puke, but continued.

          “When I was younger, my brother found out I was, uh, gay.” Cas coughed uncomfortably. “I was raised very religious, and…”

          Cas trailed off.

         “He burnt them. With a soldering torch. Uh, I live with another brother now...” Cas blushed warm and shamefully, and hid his face in the Impala’s head-rest so Dean wouldn’t see his tears. It was quiet for a few seconds.

         Dean was fucking appalled. He felt like someone had slit his heart open and shoved their hand up inside, forcing hot angry tears out of his eyes. Cas was hiding now, embarrassed, and Dean couldn’t help feeling helpless. And a little dangerous. How could someone do that to _fucking CAS._ Dean’s protective instincts roared and raged in his chest, making his breaths shaky and shallow, and he curled his fists tightly.

         Cas made himself smaller, and hoped that Dean wouldn’t see him shaking. He sobbed silently with his head buried in the Impala’s warm upholstery when suddenly he felt hands grab his face, pulling his chin up till he was looking at Dean. Dean’s face was worried and red, and his gorgeous green eyes were misty and tender. Dean tugged until Cas was beside him in the backseat.

         _God_. This was probably the hottest Cas had ever been, and he was trying to hide. Cas’ nose was pink like he’d just come in from the snow, his eyes were bright and stormy, and his hair was a fucking adorable mess. When Dean finally had Cas in the backseat he looked defeated and fearful and _ashamed_.

         Dean was slow and tentative, but more sure than he’d ever been. He pulled Cas’ scarred hands up to his face and kissed them; he pressed his lips to every inch of damaged skin, trying desperately to convey how absolutely _perfect_ Cas was. His breath was burning like kerosene, dripping hot flames that warmed his stomach and set his chest on fire.  His breath ghosted over Cas’ hands. Eventually he looked up at Castiel.

         Cas was kneeling, sitting on his heels in a remarkably youthful way. His eyes were wide and wet and uncertain, as if he wasn’t quite sure that this was real. He was shaking minutely, and his gaze avoided looking at his hands, but he did not move away. In fact, he seemed to lean subconsciously toward Dean, wanting to hide his hands between their chests and bury his face in Dean’s leather jacket. So he did. He scooted closer and closed his eyes, grabbing a fistful of Dean’s shirt so he could keep him there forever.

         Dean began to hum.


	8. Ass-butts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I really like critiques and comments and they make me happy. Please!

         It was another Monday at Lawrence High, but Dean was ok. In his classes he didn’t tune out as per his routine, preferring to stare intensely at Cas across the desk or classroom, memorizing the things that made him uniquely Cas. Like the way his face looked older than it should, or the way his brows knit when he concentrated. And how, even when he was completely absorbed, Cas would smile and blush when he felt Dean’s eyes on him. Dean couldn’t stop thinking crazy irrational thoughts, he wouldn’t stop; not when it felt so perfect. He craved Cas. He wanted to know every dream that got to visit him in the night, he wanted to know what bizarre notions filled his mind when he was bored, and he wanted to know what Cas felt whenever he looked searchingly into Dean’s eyes. Frankly, it was overwhelming. When Dean’s need became almost too much to bear, he would reach for Cas and place a gentle hand on the back of his neck, carding Cas’ hair with his fingers until he could breath and till the coils of dread in his stomach quieted.

         Cas loved it. It was such a simple, innocent gesture but the way Dean wrapped his hands in Cas hair, the _possessiveness_ of it, was thrilling. Most of all, he was finally sure that the chemistry he’d tried to ignore for so long was real, and if he ever doubted it he could simply look in Dean’s eyes. Now that he was certain, he became aware of the subtleties in their relationship. Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off of Cas, and _damn_ but Castiel loved it. He was the sole object of affection of this gorgeous godly creature with viridian eyes and a coat that smelled like warm pine and engines. It was intoxicating.

         After their last class that monday, Cas rushed unabashedly to find Dean. He was probably waiting by the Impala, as he sometimes did. Cas savored the walk to the parking lot, reveling in the foreign emotions that crowded his head and trying not to let them show on his face. A smile gleamed in his eyes, though his face remained as passive as ever.

         When Cas arrived at the impala, Dean was not alone. Alistair and some of his gang stood crowded around Dean, who was leaning nonchalantly across Baby’s hood as if to say ‘Give it your best fucking shot, I dare you’. Cas stopped in his tracks and cocked his head to hear their conversation:

         “So, you got yourself that nasty little piece of ass now Dean? I bet he was really grateful when you saved him back then, huh. How’d he make it up to you? I bet you made him your little bitch, made him beg for it. Isn’t that right, Dean?”

         Alistair was flexing his fists in anticipation, and the motion sent icicles of fiery rage into Castiel’s stomach. He knelt down to retrieve something from his backpack. Ah. They glinted in the sunlight brazenly.

         “Is that what you’d like to hear, Alistair?” Dean’s voice was chipper, blasé even.

         “How bout I tell you about the way he _smiles_ when I wear mismatched socks? Or, how I wish he’d hold my hand every time he talks, because he moves his hands so much. You can do whatever you want to me, but it won’t make you any less jealous or gay. Fact.” Dean was such a sass, and Cas was scared by his apparent death wish.

         Abruptly Alistair shoved Dean’s chest down so he was pinned to the impala, and raised his fist threateningly. This was Castiel’s cue.

         “Hey ASS-BUTTS!” Cas yelled loudly, and ran into the center of the ring of students, so that he was facing a now raging Alistair. What Alistair didn’t see was the set of gleaming brass knuckles that wrapped Cas’ fists. He certainly didn’t see them barreling like a steam engine towards his face. At the moment of collision, every single person was silent and breathless, because this was _Cas._

         At first, Alistair was dumbfounded. But before he had a chance to react, Cas was swinging his fist back around. There was no change in his expression, no sudden wildness in his eyes, to indicate that there was anything amiss with Cas. In fact, his eyes were completely empty. Seeing this, Alistair’s posse fled.

         This was probably wise, because Cas wasn’t showing signs of stopping. Alistair was on the ground and still a steady rain of blows landed, hard and mercilessly, decorating his face with blood and bruise alike. But just like all those times before, Cas began to feel Dean’s gaze at his back.

         Cas drew himself up and turned to face Dean apprehensively. _What would Dean think of him now? Would he stay?_ Cas didn’t meet Dean’s eyes, instead boring holes into the asphalt with his intense concentrated stare.

         Dean was sitting up on the impala, remarkably unscathed. _Cas._ What had even happened? Cas wasn’t a fighter, he never had been. Or at least, he’d never defended himself, so where did this come from? If he could take on half the football team, why was he perpetually harassed? _He let it happen._ There was no other explanation, but the answer itself just brought up more questions. Why? Why on earth would Cas _submit_ himself to this? Dean was starting to feel sick, so he lay back on the Impala and shut his eyes. _This was so fucked up. Crap. What the fucking crap._

         “Uh, Dean? Are you… Injured? I’m sorry, I tried to…” Cas trailed off. What _had_ he tried to do? It was simple really: Cas may deserve all the homophobia and punishments in the world, but there was no way that _Dean_ was gonna pay for Castiel’s little man-crush. By now Dean was looking horrified, almost disgusted, and Cas worried that he’d made everything worse. Like always.

         “I... I’m sorry Dean. I’m really sorry.”

         Dean just stared with a mixture of emotions that looked, to Cas, like revulsion. So Cas turned away. He blushed shamefully and his stomach rolled like a tempestuous sea.

         “Wait, Cas,” Dean said bitterly, “You can NOT be sorry. You know what I said to Alistair? Well I meant it. You’re worth twenty beatings and I’d take them all just so you’d know that. And I won’t pretend I’m not pissed that, _despite_ the fact that you’re some kind of Chuck Norris, you take that kind of crap every day. But this. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” By the time Dean finished he was gripping the Impala like he could hang on and make everything better, like he could somehow make Cas see.

         Cas couldn’t handle all of this, but he _needed_ Dean desperately, so he knelt in front of him and lay his head on Dean’s knee like he used to as a child, and he stayed there till his breaths no longer rasped like sandpaper in his lungs, and till the heat all over his body was drawn through his knees into the wet asphalt. He still didn’t look at Dean, but it was ok because Dean’s hand was on his neck. His warm fingers tugged absently at Castiel’s hair.


	9. Promises to keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pretty short, but I need feedback to write! Just BTW I love Gabriel and I'm gonna try and make him a big part of this story.

 

 

            After that afternoon in the parking lot, Cas lay curled around Dean’s feet for a while, just breathing slowly and letting the adrenaline and sadness ebb away like fog in the morning. When finally he looked up to find Dean’s face, Cas saw that the sun had crept away at some point. He frowned and felt his face being abruptly chilled once removed from the warm denim of Dean’s knee. He sighed. It felt a little bit like waking up; an end to the brief escape from his life, when all the little worries came tugging at his conscience. Ah, the woods are lovely, dark and deep…

            “Cas? Dude… what the heck? It’s like the poppy scene in the Wizard of Oz over here. I swear, I only nodded off for a second…”

            Dean’s voice was low and soothing, and Cas wanted more than anything to just wrap himself in the sound and doze. Instead, he stood woozily; his knees cracked in protest. He tried to say something to Dean, but his sleepy brain wouldn’t comply, and he just ended up kind of humming.

            Dean chuckled. “Alright Dorothy, lets get back to Auntie Em…”

            Cas loved the way that Dean’s eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled. It was really ridiculous how pretty Dean was. So pretty. Eyes like an anglicized Jesus, green and sad and kind, the sort of eyes that hid themselves in glittering mirth and might never reveal their true selves. _What the hell Cas? God, I need sleep._

            Cas nodded stoically, but Dean noticed that he was swaying minutely. When he got into the car, he no longer sat like he usually did: bolt upright and observing closely every tiny detail outside. In fact, as soon as the car purred to life Cas was snoring.

            Dean couldn’t deny that sleepy Castiel was probably the most endearing thing he’d ever witnessed. His soft snores filled Baby’s cab, and the streetlights swept her hood and twinkled in the dark wet asphalt. The rhythms of the tires on pavement lulled Dean, and before he knew it he was parked in front of Cas’ place. It took every ounce of Dean’s strength to not simply curl up and sleep. But he didn’t.

            Cas wouldn’t wake up. Dean sort of hoisted him up like he used to support John when the bar called after closing, and he carried him up to the front door of Cas’ innocuous suburban house. He’d never been, so he knocked shyly at the door.

            Gabriel opened the door so enthusiastically Dean worried that it might not take the strain. A cheesy grin spread across his sandy face when he saw Dean’s predicament, and he lounged against the doorframe gleefully before speaking, as if it was necessary for him to take in the situation in its entirety so as to enjoy it to the fullest.

            “You, green eyes, must be the famous Dean. I’ve heard _so much_ about you!” Gabriel said giddily. “You wouldn’t be planning on hauling my baby brother up to his bedroom would you? And he said you were a gentleman. Tsk tsk… ”

            Dean blushed.

            “Well that’s just adorable. Why don’t you just plop that boy in bed so I can get to know more about the greatly esteemed Dean Winchester.”            

            Gabriel was examining Dean closely, but he didn’t seem hostile. At least, not so far. _God, please let this not be the ‘you hurt Cas I’ll hurt you’ talk._

Cas didn’t wake up when Dean dropped him into his bed. He stirred briefly and sighed, clinging to Dean’s jacket, but his eyes never opened. Dean smiled to himself. When Dean got back downstairs, Gabe was waiting for him. He had a carefully guarded smirk on his face, as if he cared a shit ton more than he was letting on.

            “Well I can see why he’s into you. Not just anyone can drag 150 pounds of dead weight up a flight of stairs.” Gabriel was hedging. Obviously he wasn’t comfortable with whatever he wanted to talk about. Dean appreciated the easy personality that Gabe had, though. His ridiculously short stature and wry smile put him at ease.

            “Alright. So what has little Cassie told you so far. About, you know...” Gabe fluttered his fingers in mock-jazz hands.

            “Uh,” Dean coughed, “Michael, torch, freak ass brother. That’s it.”

Dean paused for a stretching moment.

            “That is it, right? Right?”

            Gabe smiled crookedly, as if it pained him to lie to Dean, before answering reluctantly, “Right. That’s it. It was real great to meet you Dean-o. Don’t be a stranger!” Gabe forced his voice to be chipper.

            _Well shit._

           

 


	10. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still love feedback, you know...

            When Cas awoke he was in his own bed, but he was still wearing his clothes from the day before. Dean had removed his shoes, which probably shouldn’t have made Cas smile but it did.

_Gabriel._

            Uh oh. If Dean had brought him back home, he’d have met Gabe. Cas didn’t like that. Not that he thought they wouldn’t get along, but because they would, and they would talk and that would be bad.

            “Hey kiddo.” Gabe’s face peered into the doorway, his usual grin softened slightly.

            “Dean. You talked?” Cas knew he sounded demanding and petulant, but he also knew that Gabe was at least used to it.

            “Don’t worry Cassie, I didn’t say anything. But are you…?”

            “No. I’m not going to tell him. I can’t ruin this, Gabe.”

            “Not that I’m a poster child for healthy communication, but really?”

             Cas’ eyes were dark and pleading and laced with fear that ribboned down his spine and tied his stomach in knots. He pulled his legs up to his chest with a slither of denim on bedsheets.

            Gabriel nodded, but his whiskey eyes betrayed his deep-seated fraternal worry. Just then, though, the doorbell rang, interrupting both. Gabe sauntered downstairs to answer, and when the door opened to reveal a remarkably peppy Dean, he smiled his characteristic shit-eating grin and welcomed ‘lover boy’ in.

            “Go on up, Dean!” Gabe grinned diabolically.

 

            “Morning Cas! I was thinking-“ Dean stopped short, totally not taking in the view. Cas was in the middle of putting on his shirt, and when he heard Dean’s voice he spun, obviously startled. A blush covered his face and he froze, holding the shirt dumbly.

            Dean was very much enjoying the view, who was he kidding. You couldn’t really tell since the bugger always wore that ratty trenchcoat, but he was extraordinarily well built. Not like Dean’s ostentatious musculature, more like the lithe build of a swimmer. Still, Dean’s eyes skimmed appreciatively and he felt a little prick of disappointment that Cas’d already changed into a pair of jeans. Tight jeans, but still.

            “Dean! Turn around!” Cas commanded.

            “Hey, it’s not my fault. Gabe told me to come up. Besides,” Dean peeked over his shoulder to see Cas dragging on his trenchcoat, “I couldn’t help that you were practically giving me a strip tease.” Cas tried to look indignant, but his beet red blush made it impossible.

            “I assume we’re going somewhere, or you wouldn’t have invaded my bedroom like a psychopath.” Cas replied curtly.

            “Come on. It’s time to leave the shire, have an adventure.” Cas looked doubtful. “And I brought a picnic. Let’s vamoose, shall we?”

 

            Twenty minutes later found Castiel and Dean settling onto a yellow picnic blanket, sheltered by the dappled shade of a tree. Dean found this particular grassy park a few weeks ago scouting for his new “spot”. It was perpetually deserted, being so far out of the way, and satisfied Dean’s need for a place to go when he needed to get away. There was a very small lake nearby- beautiful but unswimmable due to the geese and feral ducks. The day was warming up quickly, so Dean stripped off his heat-absorbing leather jacket with a sigh of appreciation and lay back on his hands, crossing his legs dramatically.

            “Dean. You are aware that pie does not constitute a picnic?” Cas piped up with his still surprisingly low voice as he opened the picnic basket.

            “Shut up, bitch.”

            “Jerk.”

            Dean shut his eyes tight, not trusting the pinpricks gathering behind his eyelids. Cas’ words felt like a sharp kick to the stomach and he couldn’t help seeing the youthful face of Sam float across his retinas.

            “Dean?”

            “That’s just something me n’ Sammy used to do. Took me by surprise.” Dean’s voice was rough and low, the way it got when he was trying to keep it together and failing.

            It was probably for the best that Cas didn’t say anything to that. Instead he went with his impulses and lay his head on Dean’s chest, nestled his face into the soft T-shirt Dean was wearing: Metallica or something, Cas couldn’t remember. They lay there, breathing softly and got lost in their thoughts immediately.

_Malachi was lying on the bed next to Cas, dragging slowly on a menthol cigarette. Castiel didn’t say anything, but he felt a little nauseous after drinking the soda Malachi offered. He thought they were gonna go see a movie or get a bite to eat, as Malachi had proposed, but when he asked him Malachi had laughed in a way that made Castiel feel silly and childish. ‘Give me your hand, Cas’ Malachi demanded. Cas complied, dimly concerned by his fuzzy vision, and the way his brain felt like it was bound in cling wrap. The room spun and his stomach turned violently. ‘Malachi, what... I don’t feel good. Take me home, please’ Cas had pleaded._

_In response, Malachi slowly and deliberately pressed the ember tip of his cigarette to the soft of Castiel’s wrist. A sneer crept over his face when Cas yelped in shock and tried to pull away. Malachi was stronger though, and kept the pliant Cas pinned. When Cas started pulling more frantically Malachi swung over his lap and contained him between his legs; he pressed his forearm into Castiel’s throat and looked at the innocent fear and pain in his glazed eyes and he liked it. ‘Come on Cassie, relax. You think I haven’t seen your little doe-eyed looks? You want this.’ He spoke quietly, a soft murmur that could be pillow talk but for his cold expression._

            Cas shivered despite the warm sun overhead, and Dean looked down fondly at the boy dozing on his chest. Cas’ fingers twitched restlessly against Dean’s ribs. _I wonder if he’s dreaming of chasing cars, or electric sheep…_ Dean sighed contentedly and let his mind wander.

 

            _Malachi slid his hands under Cas’ t-shirt and pulled it off slowly. His fingers ghosted over Cas’ pale stomach and made him gasp fearfully. Through his hazy mind he tried valiantly to squirm and buck Malachi off of him, but his muscles disobeyed, muting his struggles to a weak little wriggle. He kept his mouth shut, not trusting his brain to form words. The scene before his eyes spread into a double- triple image, and he dimly felt a hand skim down to his belt buckle before he blacked out._

The hands on Dean’s chest twitched once again, grasping weakly at Dean’s shirt. A small frown tugged at Cas’ mouth and his brows knit over his sleeping eyes. Dean watched Castiel’s pupils dart about like little frightened fish, but decided not to wake him. He hadn’t really been sleeping lately; he could use as much naptime as he could get. Dean turned his body so that one arm wrapped protectively around Cas’ waist and the other held his wrists reassuringly.

            Cas was ripped back to consciousness, woke and felt himself trapped by someone’s arms, pinning his wrists and trapping his chest, which ached with fear and adrenaline. He shivered and tore himself free desperately, pushing violently at the chest and arms that caged him. Before he knew what was happening and before he could control his fear he yelled angrily and desperately at Dean

            “Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking touch me.” Though Cas was slowly realizing his surroundings, he couldn’t help the words that dripped icily from his mouth. He flinched fearfully and ducked his head when Dean sat up, and raised his arm defensively. He was still panting fearfully and his chest hurt so he wrapped his arms around it defensively, trying to squeeze the fear out. He didn’t meet Dean’s eyes, couldn’t, because he wasn’t ready for the end of whatever beginnings of happiness that they had going. Worst of all was Dean’s hurt, and eventual anger. Cas was disgusting for ruining this.

 

            Long moments passed before Dean spoke.

            “Cas? Cas I’m sorry, just tell me what’s going on. I didn’t mean to… I just thought… Look, I’m sorry, I won’t touch you. Please talk to me?” Dean was getting desperate for Cas to look at him. His blue eyes were so fearful and disgusted when he woke up, and that scared Dean, a lot. Could he be _really_ misreading the signs?

            “I’m sorry Dean. I didn’t know it was you. I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.” Cas still didn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

            “What happened Castiel?” It wasn’t lost on Cas that Dean had used his full name, and it kind of hurt.

            “I… It was a long time ago, I’m sorry I freaked out. It doesn’t matter.”

            “Yeah, it obviously does. Tell me,” Dean pleaded. His fist curled anxiously, gripping the yellow picnic blanket.

            “I… It’s disgusting, Dean. He- I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t move and he…” Cas choked off a sob, focused his gaze at the grass. He ripped up a tuft and stared intently at the pale tangle of roots. Dean was silent for a moment, before he spoke. His voice was ragged.

            “Look Cas, whatever he did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll back off, I just thought…”

            “No!” Cas’ voice startled both of them with its ferocity. “Dean, I… Please don’t go.”

            And Dean didn’t go. He stayed, and held Cas until he stopped shaking, alternately stroking his hair and grasping his neck protectively. Cas quieted and stilled.

            “Okay?”

            “Okay.”


End file.
